She does as I continue my tirade.
“Polite isn’t in your wheelhouse ... Plus, girls always have shit all over the counter. Where’s your shit? Regardless, let me assure you, my choice had nothing to do with getting in your pants ...”
I’m about to sayI’ve already done thatwhen I’m arrested by a repeat thought: I’ve already done that ... In fact, I was a fucking Olympian that night.
A grin begins to grow over my face as I stare at Evie’s back, her hands on her hips.
You counted the minutes and seconds ...
Little miss mean girl said seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds.
I stare at her, keeping all my thoughts on the inside.How do you know the time? Why were you counting, bae?
Did you think I didn’t count too?
I’m giddy as I blink and stand there, quietly debating how to play this. Because the one thing I’m positive about is that she knows because it mattered.
She liked it. Just like I did.
If I out her, she’ll say it’s a reach.But you knew down to the seconds.
“Are you glitching?” she snarks over her shoulder, but I chuckle.
New plan. Kill her with kindness until she kills me.
“Listen, I’m sorry I used your shower.” I can feel thewhat the fuckon her face. “And I’m sorry I scared you. Just give me a minute, and I’ll head out to my room ... unless you’re hungry. Then I’ll feed you if you’ll let me.”
“Pass.” She says it with way less venom. And the way she twists her shoulders tells me I’m making it hard for her to be mean. It’s like her body is trying to physically reject my niceties.
It reminds me of that part inThe Exorcistwhen they throw holy water on the demon.
I walk to the bed, my eyes still on her.I can’t believe you counted.I grab my boxers before I drop the towel, then tug them on, followed by the sweats I stole.
“You can turn around now.”
She turns slowly, like a cat examining where to strike, her eyes narrow.
“You’re still shirtless.”
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, feeling a tad more arrogant, humming, “Mmhmm, we do live in LA.”
Evie’s pretty eyes are locked on mine as we stare at each other in some kind of standoff.What are you thinking?
God, she’s the embodiment of tiny terror, but I wonder if she feels what I feel—that crackling. The fucking buzz.
In answer to my thought, her eyes dip to my chest before locking with mine again. I can’t help myself. I smirk when she swallows, like in the theater when I caught her drifting, dirty thoughts written all over her face.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I tease quietly, rubbing a hand over my chest.
Or keep doing it.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she bites back.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
I gather my things, swiping my phone off the bed and pocketing it before I genuinely smile.
“Yeah, you were.” I keep my voice quiet, not giving her an inch to take a mile. “But if you’re not careful, I might think dad bods are your type.”
